Animals
by KoolJack1
Summary: Takes place right after Hannibal is caught and incarcerated. Sequel to my story Monsters. Can stand alone, but will probably make more sense if you read that story first.
1. Chapter 1

Will had left what seemed like so long ago, and no one had come in since. Will was right, about everything he'd said. He knew he should be saddened that his friend was done with him, yet he felt nothing and that aggravated him. Will was the last person on the planet who believed he was not the monster everyone claimed he was, but even he knew that Will was wrong. He accepted he was a monster, and this is what happened to monsters. Eventually the ones under the bed are forgotten and the ones that live amongst people are caught and silenced. He wanted Will to understand that he really couldn't control what he was, this wasn't his choice. In reality, that no longer mattered. Nothing mattered, except he was strapped down so tightly his legs had gone numb.

The lights in the room had gone out and his eyes finally adjusted. The pain in his body was escalating with every breath he took, to the point where his breathing was so loud it seemed to echo off the walls. To most people, this was hell. To him, it was justified punishment that he knew was long over due. His chest spasmed suddenly and he coughed, feeling bile rise in his throat. His mouth couldn't open enough to expel his stomach contents, and he spit it out the best he could. He shivered as it dripped down his face and his eyes traveled to the door. He needed water badly, and the thought of peeing with the catheter in disgusted him. No one was coming, no one cared he was down here. He would probably rot down here and no one would ever know, or care for that matter. He tried to force himself to be bothered by it, but there was nothing there for him to feel.

He felt absolutely nothing that he was strapped naked to a bed in a dark room, bruised, in pain, and forgotten. He thought about Will's hand on his arm, and it made the skin of that spot tingle. Will never touched anybody, but he'd willingly touched him, twice. His finger twitched too then, and he groaned as the memories washed over him. He hummed to himself to make his ears stop ringing persistently. Hours must have passed, he thought anxiously. He was losing his calm, which he'd held so dear his entire life. The thought of being left down here to die, to never smell another human's flesh again, made him want to scream. He wanted Will's vile aftershave to waft over him again, and he wished he could go back in time and enjoy it again.

He tested the restraints, but they didn't budge a bit. His body was on fire and he tried to open his tightly shut mouth. He wanted to bite something; to feel his teeth sink into something. His good eye scanned everything in the room that his eyes could make out in the darkness, and set on a small blinking light. A camera, they were watching him. He wondered if they could hear him too.

The door slid open then, and the invasion of light when someone hit the switch blinded him and he flinched. He heard someone come to stand over him, and he blinked up at the figure until his eyes adjusted. "I'm the warden of this prison, Dr. Lecter. Pleasure to meet you, I've heard a lot about you." The man's voice was cold, and Hannibal already decided this man hated him with a passion. Part of him hoped it was because he ate his child or wife somewhere in the mix. "Your friend, Will Graham, came to me and said he was unhappy with your treatment here. Pity the poor fool actually believed you are capable of friendship."

Hannibal shut his good eye in a sign of ignoring him, he pictured himself breaking free from his restraints and killing the man with his bare hands for even mentioning Will's name, for calling him a fool. He imagined himself sinking his teeth deep into his neck, and licking the blood as it drained from his body. He'd never heard himself make the noise he did when the warden put a heavy hand on his battered ribs. The noise was somewhere between a cry and a yelp, and he was disgusted with his inability to control himself.

"You will look at me when I'm speaking, Lecter. I have no respect for you or the work you did as a doctor, as far as I'm concerned you aren't even a person. You will not disrespect me and you will do exactly as I say." If anyone had spoken to him like this in the past, or anyone else for that matter, the things he would have done to them would have been unimaginable. Yet, he opened his eye again and stared up at the man, somehow managing to match his cold glare with one of his own. "I'm not afraid of you, but you should be very afraid of me." Typical of a man like this to say he wasn't afraid of him after he was defenseless. If he could open his mouth he would ask him if he'd feel the same way, had they met before he was given the natural upper hand. Easy to talk when the opponent is strapped to a bed.

"Cat got your tongue, Dr. Lecter? I heard you were a man of elegant language, such a shame my boys silenced you."

The pain that erupted from his jaw as he forced it to move was indescribable, yet he forced out, "Nothing will ever silence me."

The warden's expression didn't falter, "We'll see, Lecter. I plan on taking revenge for the families of each of your victims, and Lord knows there's been a lot of them. Don't do the crime if you can't do the time." Lecter wanted to snap every limb from the man's smug body. "Sadly, we have to keep you alive. Apparently animals like you also have rights, so we'll be back to insert a feeding tube until you're capable of feeding yourself. Oh, and human isn't on our menu. I hope you still manage to find our meals fitting for your tastes."

He turned and headed towards the door then, hitting the light and leaving the room in darkness again, "Sleep well, Dr. Lecter. Welcome to your new home."


	2. Chapter 2

_In the dark you listen to the sound of your breathing,_

He's cold, his body temperature dropping to match the cool draft that flows through the open space. Sleep evades him, as tired as he is. His limbs ache from constant stress; far too on edge to let his muscles relax.

_And the clicking of your eye lids._

He tries to make himself remember exactly what happened after he got beaten. He remembers every blow, until the last one that hit him in the face and the world went dark. He tried to remember if he woke up at all, but he must have been out awhile. His first memory was when Will arrived, the door opening being the first noise that aroused his awareness. For a second he was confused as to why he strapped down so tightly he knew the leather would leave bruises, but it rushed back to him as Will spoke. Will knew what he was now, _who he was_. Everyone knew, the knowledge was slightly comforting and relieving, and on the other hand it disgusted and humiliated him.

Nausea ripples through him in waves, following the tremors of pain that each breath cause. No one's told him, but he's certain he has a few broken rips. He tries to asses his own damage, tries to determine why everything hurts so bad. Distress wins and survival mode kicks in, his body winning the argument with his mind that he had to go to the bathroom. He relieves himself, grateful no one came in even though he knew no one would. His thoughts travel to Will, and he wonders if he's sleeping soundly or in he's awake in fear of nightmares. He doesn't even know if it's nighttime, maybe Will is with Jack having his mind infected with more crime scenes that will destroy his soul to the core. Hannibal's whole body is sore, his shoulder blades flexing from being forced flat for so long. Being immobilized changes everything, and he's suddenly glad he never restrained his victims. They had a chance to fight him off, he gave them a shot to kill him. He wants to move, his body twitching painfully from being so still. Closing his eyes does nothing to relieve his antsy twitching and trembling, but the creaking of a door does.

It's not the big door, it's one to his other side; farther away. His eyes are open now, and he's ready for a fight; not that there will be one. The lights come on and he makes a noise, blinded uncomfortably. Just as quickly as it comes on, it goes off again, a smaller and dimer desk light turing on instead. He peeks out from under his eyelid, staring up into a man's face above him. "I'm sorry Dr. Lecter, I wasn't thinking I didn't mean to bother your eyes." He opens his good eye further, "I'm Barney, one of the night orderlies. I heard what happened, and for what it's worth I'm sorry." His tense muscles relax and he breathes deeply. He wishes he could speak, he wants to speak to this man.

"I got a blanket for you, it can get pretty chilly down here at night," and he covers him, even making sure his feet are covered. He wants to thank him, he wants to reach out and touch him. He wants to do something to show he isn't an ungrateful, bottom feeding criminal. "I know you can't do much talkin' right now, but when you're all healed up and ready to chat I'll be around, seeing to your care three days a week. We're all God's creatures, I'll be sure to see you get treated better the best I can. Since you're under my care, I have the authority to medicate you."

The darker skinned man paused, arranging something out of his view, he wanted to turn his head and see, "I know you're in pain, would you like some morphine and something to help you sleep? I'll leave that choice up to you." Then the other man is standing over him again, looking down at his face. He wants to vocalize himself, tell Barney that sleeping under medication leaves him vulnerable and he doesn't trust these people here. It's like he reads his mind, "My shift just started, I'll be making my rounds all night. I'll keep an eye on you and you can rest; no one will bother you, I'll make sure of it." The man waits for a second, then he smiles, "Here I am waiting for a yes or no, blink for me; one for yes two for no." His lightheartedness soothes his anxiety, and at least there's one person here who doesn't want him to suffer. Undeservingly, he'd found someone who could look past the urges he'd given into. He blinked one exaggerated blink, and the man retrieved a clip board. "Just answer these questions for me please, yes or no blinks. It's part of procedure. Are you nauseous?" He blinked yes, trying to breathe deeply as another wave of pain rippled through his face. Barney must have noticed, because he set his clipboard aside. "That'll wait until morning, I'll give you some morphine and a mild sedative. The first night in here is always the hardest, and you got roughed up pretty bad. It's pretty unpleasant in itself, and rules say you have to be secured down. I want to try to make you a little more comfortable though."

Barney snapped on rubber gloves, and Lecter strained his eye to see in his direction. He felt a rubber tie tighten on his upper arm, and his inner elbow tapped a few times right before the sharp pinch of a needle. "It's silly, but I still don't like needles. Getting shots makes me queasy." The man talked a lot, and Lecter was silently thankful. His voice lulled him, it was strangely comforting. "Are you warm enough?" He blinked once, "Would you like me to keep the desk light on?" One blink. "I just have to give you a quick check up, then I'll let you rest." A pen light blinded his eye for just a second, then he flinched when his swollen eye was prodded. Barney was very gentle, his touches only meant to examine and cause no further pain. Hannibal relaxed slightly, feeling Barney take his pulse. He was extra gentle with his jaw, and Hannibal closed his eye as the pull of the drugs started to numb him. Fingers poked at his chest and abdomen and despite the beginning effects of the drugs it hurt enough for him to groan quietly. "Sorry, I know it hurts." His apology made the pain acceptable. The drugs kick in full force, and he can't open his eye at all. His lid is heavy, his body pleasantly numb and warm. "I'll be back to check on you soon." He wants to thank Barney, or at least show some sign of awareness; he's too tired though. He's floating and suddenly the straps aren't too tight anymore and Will isn't gone forever. He remembers Will touching his arm, and the spot tingles again. He lets sleep claim him from his delusional haze, trusting Barney to keep an eye on him.


	3. Chapter 3

Every doctor knows logically what happens to the body and mind during certain events, but having the logical knowledge and actually having to feel it were totally different worlds. He has no idea how much time has passed, but when he opens his good eye again; he feels heavy. He's hot and cold at the same time, and he knows that morphine and a sedative might make him woozy, but the strange hot and cold sensation was something else. His eyes didn't want to focus, his chest way too tight. His breaths were wheezing gasps, like there isn't enough air in the room. Blood trickles into his mouth, and he realizes his lips were so chapped they were cracked and bleeding.

He feels sticky and disgusting, repulsed by his state though he had nothing to do with it and had nothing he could do about it. He makes a noise, and suddenly someones standing over him. "Dr. Lecter, you've been out for almost twelve hours." Barney's hand feels his forehead, "The cut on your neck is infected, I was just preparing some antibiotics for you." He was unaware of the cut, but he didn't doubt it was there. "You're hazy from the drugs and the infection, it's minor though it should clear up in no time." He feels pathetic, unable to help himself; remembering that he's no longer allowed to take care of himself. He wants to shower and fix his hair, it's hanging on his forehead in a sticky mess. He feels feverish, and his eyes drift closed.

He hears Barney talking to him, but his words are blurred together and he can't understand why everything feels so terrible. It hurts to think about how this is his life from now on, and he knows even when he's healed from this incident, there will be many more. These people will abuse his body, mind, and soul until he isn't a man anymore. He will be a monster, the true definition.

_It's cold outside, so cold, and he's so tired he can't stand up anymore. He stumbles out of the cabin, the snow nipping at his bare feet. He wants to cry and scream, but he can't. He doesn't have anymore words in his mind. He tries to remember the feeling of his baby sister's hand in his. He'd promised his parents he wouldn't let anything bad happen to her, and yet they'd dismembered and ate her. He might not have been able to keep that promise, but he would keep the promise to destroy the vile men who had done that to her._

"Mischa," he groans, and Barney pulls his eyelids open to look into his eyes. Pain seers through his jaw, but he forces the words to come out as clear as they can.

"Dr. Lecter?"

_It was so long before he could even speak again, so long before he could close his eyes without seeing her face. When he could manage to find time where he wasn't surrounded by people, he'd dig things into his skin just to watch the blood rise from beneath. He'd stare at it, watch it drip down his arm and onto his lap. He'd lick it, let the red stain his teeth. At the orphanage, his own house, he'd just watch things. Watch things happen. He'd watch as boys fought, listen as one of them would get in the other's bed and they'd have sex; on the nights no one watched them. He never spoke to any of them, never touched any of them. Even when he hit them, he wouldn't even react. But the anger in him just bubbled, waiting to pop. The way they disrespected the house he'd grown up in. The house he'd grown up with his baby sister._

_"Hannbl," she'd say in her little voice. And he'd sit in front of her and cover his eyes and ask how she could see him if he was hiding. She'd giggle and swat at his hands. "You not hidin' Hannbl, you right there!"_

Will stood in the door way, staring at the man on the bed with wide eyes. Again, Hannibal Lecter had shocked him. Barney, the bigger black man had introduced himself as, was standing over the bed. Lecter's body was jolting against the straps, words falling from his lips in an unknown language. He stepped closer, looking up at Barney's confused expression.

_Mischa was running towards him, and he opened his arms to catch her when she jumped at him; her little arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Her blonde hair tickled his face and she smelled like_

"Will?" Lecter questioned, his eyes opening tiredly. Hannibal's words are slurred, his mouth too tightly shut for his words to be clear. Will stepped into view, looking down at the man. "Mischa, I killed her." He has to keep talking, despite the pain in his face. He has to force his lips to move and say the words. Will has to know what happened, who he is. Why he is.

Will stood there, unsure of what to do. That only made the man more upset. He tried to twist violently, and Barney reached out to stop him. "He's going to break something, I have to sedate him." The syringe was already full, and Barney injected it into his arm.

"Who's Mischa, Hannibal?" The sound of her name on Will's lips made all the air leave his lungs. It was like he'd made her up, made up his entire childhood. Made up his family and his first home and his aunt and his entire world.

"She was so beautiful Will, so full of life," he closed his eyes again as the drugs pulled at his mind, "Such a beautiful little girl, it should've been me." His jaw is on fire, and it snaps shut and he can't make it move anymore.

Will reached a tentative hand out to touch the other man, hoping to sooth him. Speaking through gritted teeth must be killing his mouth, and he wishes the other man could tell him who Mischa is. His first kill, maybe? Beautiful little girl, he'd said, and he really couldn't picture Hannibal killing a child, no matter what he was.

He was only here now because Jack had pulled strings, insisting that this time he really did need Will to talk to Lecter. In reality, it was meant to be a goodbye and Will knew it. Hannibal was far too out of it to really know he was here, so he settled for stroking the other man's hand while Barney checked him over. "He was your friend," it wasn't a question, and Will looked up at the other man.

"Yeah, I thought he was mine too," he didn't mean for his voice to sound so sad.

"I don't think anyone doesn't feel, ya know? A monster is made, not born. Even a cold heart can be warmed by some kindness. You were kind to him?"

Will thought back, "I would say so, I think I treated him normal. I don't really have a lot of friends, but he was different. I liked being around him, I think he knew that."

"He is your friend too. Something bad happened to him, something bad happened to just about everyone in this place. No infant is born and wants to kill." Will kept stroking his fingers down the man's hand. Ever since it had been revealed what he really was, it'd only made Will want to be closer to him. Part of him felt guilty, like if he would have realized sooner he would have been able to stop him and change the outcome. Will couldn't bring himself to think of Hannibal as a sociopath. Not the man that had delved into his mind, saw the darkness, and accepted him just the way he was. Not the man that was charming, handsome, likable, and beyond intelligent, yet still decided that Will was one of the only people he'd call a friend. He'd put Hannibal up on a pedestal, and he didn't want to take him off. Sociopath's were evil people, they didn't make exceptions to who they hurt. Hannibal never hurt anyone kind. Further investigation had shown that Hannibal only killed one's he'd seen as bad, or rude. In a sick, twisted way. His kills were justified. Hannibal never laid a finger on Will; never laid a finger on anyone he was close to.

Will knew that he might not have hurt them because he was too close to them, he'd be easily discovered. Will couldn't accept that there were explanations for everything that had happened, things that explained Hannibal's good actions to make them not good but part of a bigger plan that was bad. Looking down at him now, strapped, beaten, and ill; to think of him as bad now would be cruel. Maybe he could be cured, he tried to think, knowing in the back of his mind it was an ignorant thought.


	4. Chapter 4

It's been days since Will's last visit, and Hannibal isn't one hundred percent certain the man was ever really there. He vaguely remembered Will stroking the back of his hand before he fell back into the endless pit of darkness that seemed to exist all around him, yet extended no further than his mind. He wasn't used to feeling things, he wasn't capable of having emotional reactions; he was okay with that. Apparently, when one's entire sense of being and lifestyle is uprooted and turned upside down, even people like him have a hard time adjusting. Especially people like him. He was disadvantaged here, his self preservation causing him to be over emotional in the sense that he needed to fight back; which was insane since he hadn't been able to move a muscle in what felt like weeks. His body had it's own way of fighting back, ways that even his mind couldn't control. When Barney stood over his bed and explained they had to feed him through a tube and asked him kindly to offer his mouth, he wanted to. He really did. Defiantly, he locked his damaged jaw further, just to be difficult. Not difficult for Barney, the man was nothing but a kind soul. No, he refused to do what was asked of him with the warden and three other orderlies hovering just behind him.

The plastic tube pressed against his lips and slid between to knock against his clamped teeth. Barney licked his lips nervously, glancing in the other men's direction. "Please, Dr. Lecter."

Someone huffed behind him, and Barney was shoved aside. This man had a separate tube, and he didn't hesitate to push it up through his nose. He gagged, squirming as it traveled down his throat. "Gently," Barney said sympathetically, and Hannibal panted breaths through his mouth and shut his eyes when he felt warm liquid oozing into his stomach.

**T**hat was even longer ago. He was basically healed, his injuries no more than old aches and yellow faded bruises. When it was time to let him off that table, before he was unstrapped, the mask was replaced firmly. They had unstrapped him, expecting him to shoot off the table and attack them. He wanted to, he wanted to tear their limbs from their body and shove them down their throat. His body had other ideas, his muscles protesting from lack of use and he stood on shaky feet. They had a pair of clothes for him to wear, and he slowly put them on while they stood back; guns drawn and ready to fire if he twitched the wrong way. They kept one arm handcuffed to the bed until he was done. Before he could stand again, someone had his free arm twisted behind his back and handcuffed to the other one. If he wasn't so sore, he would throw himself against the other man, just to watch him fall. The shackles found their way back onto his ankles and he stood there alone again as the other man backed up. He looked at each of them, they all had a glint in their eye that was more evil than his.

Barney had taken him back to his cell in silence, and he expected the cuffs and mask to remain in place; yet once inside, Barney asked him to put his back towards the small opening. He was freed again, and Barney stepped back as he turned around and stretched his sore body. "Thank you."

Barney smiled slightly, "Hey, you're talking." He had refused to speak, even after they'd unwired his jaw.

"You're an exceptional human being, I believe you deserve to know that," he continued, sitting down on his uncomfortable cot.

"My parents always told me we're all God's creatures; treat others the way you want to be treated, two wrongs don't make a right, that's what I try to live by to do this job."

Hannibal nodded slightly, he'd heard the sayings before of course. "Do prisoners here often give you trouble?"

Barney shook his head, "I've worked here for quite sometime, and I have no incidents on file." He seemed proud.

"That is good; very good morals to have." He found it ironic, he was enforcing the man's values that very must conflicted with his own.

"I usually work with the special cases, the-" he stopped suddenly, as if just realizing he'd said too much.

Hannibal looked up, interested, "Do go on. You won't insult me, I'm aware of my status here."

"The ones who are manipulatively dangerous, the ones who don't go to rehabilitation," he finished in a rush, busying himself by flipping through some papers as if they were just talking about the weather.

"I do hope you get paid extra, dealing with the lowest levels of scum."

Barney's eyes flickered up to meet his, and Lecter could see he chose his next words carefully, "I chose the position. I don't treat people by the crimes they've committed, I follow the rules and I try to keep the peace, for the prisoners safety and my own. I once stole a man's wallet, and felt guilty seconds later and ran up to him and told him he dropped it. I took it out of his pocket. I was maybe fourteen or fifteen, and I was afraid someone saw and I was going to get arrested. I know the two things aren't related, but I look at it as we're all criminals in one way or another, different degrees, you know? And I know I can handle anyone, another guard might get themselves killed. I'm kind to whoever is kind to me, in here and out in the bigger jail. I've had cases where my kindness doesn't work and I just switch cases."

Lecter nodded approvingly, he had tested Barney and he had passed, "So you chose to work with me." It wasn't a question.

"I was asked and I didn't decline," he amended slightly, "I did offer to be your leading orderly, after I accepted."

"So we best become well acquainted."

Barney nodded, looking at ease. Hannibal could tell he wasn't the only psychopath this man had spoken too. Years of practice had made him immune to uncomfortable tension he was subtly trying to put in the air.

"Dr. Lecter has a visitor," someone called down the hall. Barney smiled at whomever it was, and Lecter closed his eyes and inhaled.

"Will," he whispered, standing once more.

"I'll be back around in a bit, Dr. Lecter," Barney said, retreating down the hall when Will stopped in front of the glass.

Lecter approached it, and Will took a slight step back that he pretended not to notice. "Hello dear Will."

Will nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "Hey."

"I'm surprised you came back," he prompted.

"I...You said something when I was last here, and I thought it might be important."

Hannibal tilted his head, "Important to whom? What did I say?"

"You don't remember?"

"I do believe I was not well when I was speaking, you'll have to remind me," he said easily, and he really didn't recall.

"Jack thought it might be important," he still didn't follow.

"What did I say?"

"You said you killed Mischa, but it should have been you," he said awkwardly. Hannibal's entire body jolted, and he suddenly felt lightheaded.

"Jack wants you to establish a profile on me," he knew people were going to study him; psychoanalyze him. He would never allow it, but in his fevered trance he must have let his unconscious mind speak. The long suppressed urge to tell people about his childhood must have surfaced in Will's company.

"Yes."

"You told him what I said," still wasn't a question.

"Yes, it was the only way he'd let me here to see you. I had to tell him everything you said, but we didn't actually expect you to say anything."

Emotions he hadn't experienced since his childhood surfaced, and the room was suddenly too hot and too small.

"I was ill, I don't know a Mischa."

"You said she was a beautiful little girl, you killed her, and it should have been you and not her," he prompted, and Hannibal felt ill. He shut his eyes, his little sisters face smile at him from behind closed lids. He felt darkness and anger surge in him, the anger that forced it's way out of his fingers in his earlier kills. Back when he was driven by emotion and not pure need. Back before he was what he was, because deep down he knew he wasn't always this way.

"Maybe you meant someone else? Did you kill her?" His eyes snapped opened.

"No, I did NOT kill her."

"You said-"

"I was delusional, I would never harm a child," his voice was fierce, and Will looked like a caged animal. The urge to bite him was overwhelming, and he pushed himself against the glass. "Why would you even entertain the idea of me harming a little girl."

Will backtracked, "I was just trying to help you remember," he said gently.

Hannibal felt wicked, he felt like a caged lion and he planned on making everyone his prey. No one would speak of Mischa again.

"You'll forget you ever heard that Will, and you wont ever come back here again."

Will's face falls, "Hannibal, I know you're lying to me."

He feels the careful control slipping; the mask he'd worn his entire life falls off his face all at once and will can _see_. Hannibal walks directly to the glass, he can feel the lethality of his movements that he'd saved just for when he was going to end another life. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, the scent of Will's fear soaking into his pores. When he opens them again, he's hungry. The calm exterior he'd clung to his entire life breaks and Will is staring at him like a deer in headlights. "You want to know what I did to her, William? Come in here, let me _show _you exactly what I did."

Defiance is suddenly written all over Will's features, "So you did kill Mischa."

Hannibal smiles and he knows it's the smile of a predator, "A true artist never speaks of their work, Will."

Will spits his words at him, "You aren't an artist, you're a killer."

Hannibal licks his lips, "You and everyone else complimented my exquisite dinners."

Will pales, and the hurt and betrayal returns to his face; and Hannibal wants to scratch the skin from his face and look at his brain while the emotions run through them. He wants to taste them, devour the responses in Will's brain that are because of him. "You stand here now and say I'm a killer, when I'm in a cage. Yet you stood in my house, spent endless hours with me, and I never once harmed you."

Will inhales sharply, "You made me think I was insane." It's no more than a whisper.

"No, your own mind did that to you. I tried to make you embrace what you are."

Will shakes his head, breathing heavily, and Hannibal knows he's winning. "You can convince yourself of whatever you want, William. But you know. You'll always wonder, was I your friend, did I actually care? I won't answer that for you, your uncertainty smells delectable. I won't answer another question for you, Will. Come to whatever conclusions you'd like, as long as you remember; you ate them too." He feels like a dam inside him has broken, and all the years of pretending to be what he wasn't wash away. Constantly having to control himself, hold himself back; it exhausted him. He didn't have to pretend anymore, the whole world knew his name and what he'd done. They thought that was everything, but they'd never know everything; he'd make sure of it. The only question left unanswered was why, and they'd wonder until generations later when his name wasn't one everyone knew. He felt warm, and tilted his head back and inhaled the smell of Will one last time.

"Hannibal," Will says, and he sounds broken. Lecter opens his eyes and smirks at him. It was a wonderful feeling, the snapping of each cord that held him to humanity. People would beat him, judge him, mock him, analyze him from now on, as if they weren't fooled by him for all those years. "Please just tell me who Mischa was, you'll feel better."

They stare at each other for a few more minutes, and the silence is eating Will alive. Will looks away and clears his throat, "I care Hannibal, I don't want to know why so I can be the one who got you to talk. I wont ever tell anyone what you said, I promise you."

Face impassive, "Jack sent you here to gather the information, you'll report it back to him."

Will shook his head, "I'll swear you refused to speak about it."

For the briefest of seconds, he considered telling Will. He considered telling Will about his beautiful little sister and telling him what those monsters did to her. The real monsters. Not for himself, but for her. She deserved to have someone else know who she was and what happened to her, and how what happened to her and her parents, and what happened to her older brother after. His family deserved to have someone else know. He knew that it wouldn't matter to anyone else, his family lived on through him and he made sure he made anyone else who didn't live their life doing right by others suffered in their name. Will would be the only person who would feel his pain, if he were to tell him. He'd hear the story and feel Hannibal's inner pain and trauma like a light being turned on. "Will, this is the last time I'll show you any kindness. I am not who you thought I was. Hearing stories about me wont bring you answers or peace of mind. It won't help make sense of this for you."

"I want to help you," Will tries one last time, but his voice betrays that he already knows he's lost. "Maybe if you tell me why, you can be at peace. It wont reverse all of this, but..." He trails off.

Lecter sat down on his cot, "The trouble with that is, Will. I wasn't out of control in my actions, I knew exactly what I was doing. I wanted to do it, therefor I am not distressed about it. I feel no remorse or guilt for my actions; I have nothing to make peace with."

Will shook his head, "You're a sociopath, I know you don't feel guilt or remorse for what you've done. I know you know why though, there's reasons. You can make peace with those reasons and the past; whatever it is that hurt you. You can share that burden with someone who...cares about you."

Will's desperate to know, and Hannibal looks away from him and lays back down on the cot, "I've made peace with my suffering a long time ago. I have made peace with it all. Regain your footing Will, and forget we ever met. I advise you leave now, before you really test my patience." He was in no position to be making threats, but he knew Will wouldn't test his patience.

"I'm still sorry," Will says quietly, and Hannibal can smell his scent getting weaker as he walks back down the hall.


End file.
